by Annie Murray
‘Oh but . . .’ Violet protested. ‘Surely he’s just a friend, Marigold? I mean why shouldn’t she have a friend to go out with – it’s nice for her.’
‘Nice be damned – it’s disgusting at her age, that it is – or any age, her being the way she is. No – I’ve told her, I’m not having it. You don’t know what she’s like, Violet, what with her drinking and carry-on. You have to keep her in sight all the time. Worn me out it has, all these years, looking out for her. Don’t think you know, ’cause you don’t . . .’
Violet hesitated, never up to arguing with Bessie. Marigold didn’t even blink, but Linda thought she saw something in her aunt’s eyes, a dark flicker, nothing more. She felt sorry for Marigold, but she was like deep mud – everything seemed to sink into her without trace. She wondered if Marigold had her usual stash of gin tucked down her bra.
Linda was about to sit down when Bessie snapped at her, ‘Don’t you go parking yourself. Help your mother bring the dinner in – you might as well be of some use in the family.’
As she left the room, Linda saw Carol look at her and give her a quick wink. Tears filled her eyes for a moment and in the hall she rubbed them away fiercely. She wasn’t letting Nana see she ever had any effect at all.
Throughout the summer she worked at the box factory in Witton, counting flat cartons into piles of fifty to be packed. There were some kind ladies working there, but at the beginning of one week she gave in her notice on a whim and left on the Friday. She didn’t tell Mom, not until she’d got a job at Wimbush’s bakery, where she had to wear a neat white overall and worked amid the smell of baked bread and cakes instead of breathing in the cardboard dust in the factory. She liked working in a shop better. It was more varied, people coming in and out and chatting. She’d cleaned herself up a bit to go and ask for that job – washed her hair and tied it back. They wouldn’t want someone dirty handling their bread. And it made her feel a bit better. She quite liked the work too – cleaning down the shelves where they arranged the bread and cakes, and bagging them up and selling them, chatting to the regulars.
Mrs Richards, the middle-aged lady who employed her, was pleased with her.
‘You’re good at working out the change,’ she said. ‘Bright girl like you. Why don’t you do something else? Learn to type or do accounts or something? You could get a good job, you could.’
‘I might,’ Linda said, without enthusiasm. ‘I quite like it here though.’
‘You could be a secretary, if you put your mind to it,’ Mrs Richards said. ‘You get a good boss in that, and you’re made. My cousin Doris did that. Worked for one of the top men at . . . what d’you call it? Some place to do with pensions.’ She tittered. ‘See? Wouldn’t have suited me – proper muddle head, me!’
Linda smiled. She liked Mrs Richards. She was kind and didn’t pretend to be anything she wasn’t. And she didn’t mind the work. In her long days amid the bread and cakes she had time to think. She thought about Rosina. And she thought, how can I get away from home?
Chapter Fifty-Four
Carol’s operation was in September.
‘I wish they could tell us how long she’ll be in there.’ Violet was up in their room packing Carol’s few possessions into a little bag. ‘They never tell you anything.’
It all depended how the operation went and how quickly Carol recovered from it.
‘I hate her being in there,’ she said to Linda while Carol was in the bathroom. ‘And she’ll be under that flaming nun’s thumb again.’
When they were getting ready for bed she cuddled Carol to her like a baby, tearful herself.
‘My poor babby,’ she said, rocking her on her lap. Carol was still very small for her age. She snuggled up, enjoying the attention, but she was in a calmer state than her mother.
‘I’ll be all right. I’ll see Sister Cathleen and it means I’ll be able to walk better when I get back.’
‘You’re a brave girl,’ Violet said tearfully. ‘Isn’t she, Linda?’
Linda, sitting on her bed, nodded glumly. That was the one thing they were ever agreed on – their affection for Carol. With Carol gone for weeks, maybe even months, she was going to be the only one left! It was a horrible thought.
Soon the two of them were left alone in the half light through the thin curtains. Carol lay very quiet and still.
‘You all right?’ Linda whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Thought you’d fallen asleep.’
‘No – ’ There came another pause. ‘I was praying.’
‘Were you?’
‘Sister Cathleen taught me. She said if you talk to God he’ll always be beside you.’
Carol hadn’t talked about Sister Cathleen for a while. Now she was going back into hospital, it had reminded her. No one had ever told Linda about talking to God, not in her whole life. She wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Don’t you ever think, you having polio and that . . . That it’s not fair? I mean it isn’t fair, is it? You being in a wheelchair or on crutches all the time. Not like everyone else.’
‘I wish I could go swimming again. They said that’s where I caught it, didn’t they? And to go to the park and run about. And I’ll miss Joyce’s babby being born when I’m away. I don’t want to go . . . But I know I’ve got to.’
Linda was struck once more by her sister’s patience. They were so different! Sometimes she burned with so much inner energy she just had to run and jump. She couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in a wheelchair, unable to run about.
‘Anyway,’ Carol said. ‘That’s why I’m having the operation, isn’t it? To make me better.’
After a few moments, Carol’s voice came again through the gloom.
‘Lin? Will you come and get in with me? Like you used to?’
‘All right.’
Carol wriggled across and Linda climbed in beside her, the bedsprings squeaking loudly. Linda lay on her back and Carol cuddled up beside her, in the crook of her arm.
‘Lin?’ Her voice was muffled.
‘Ummm?’
‘Don’t get our mom too cross, will you? She doesn’t mean it.’
‘I don’t mean to.’
‘I know you don’t. It’s Nana, isn’t it? The things she says . . .’
‘I hate her.’
She felt Carol raise her head, could feel her looking down at her. ‘Do you?’
‘I don’t want to stay here, not on my own.’
‘You won’t be – I mean, I’ll be back. Course I will.’
‘You’d better be.’ She tickled her, and Carol squirmed. She cuddled her arms round Linda. Such a skinny little thing, she was, like a fragile kitten.
‘Don’t worry, sis,’ Carol murmured. ‘Everything’ll be all right.’
The ambulance came for her the next day. Linda hugged her goodbye before she left for work, trying not to cry. Once she got on the bus she let the tears come and arrived red-eyed at the bakery.
‘What’s up with you, duck?’ Mrs Richards asked kindly as she buttoned her overall. She was a thin, gentle little woman. ‘T’ain’t like you to be miserable.’
Linda almost managed to laugh at this. She felt as if she was miserable all the time!
‘They’ve taken my sister into hospital today for her operation.’
Mrs Richards knew about Carol, and about polio. She had a niece who had been badly affected by it.
‘Oh dear, you poor thing. Well – it’s for the best, isn’t it? Come on – we’ll brew up a nice cup of tea at the back and you can choose yourself a bun. I bet you haven’t thought to eat this morning, have you?’
Linda shook her head. She’d forgotten all about eating and her mom hadn’t given it a thought either. She’d been in too much of a state fussing over Dad and Carol before getting out to work herself. It was lovely to be taken under Mrs Richards’ motherly wing and she felt like crying all over again, but managed not to as she knew the kind woman was trying to cheer her up.
The
day after Carol had her operation, Violet went over to Coleshill and Linda was left to take care of her father when she got home.
She opened a tin of chicken soup for him and carried it through on his tray to the back room. Mom had gone out and bought a standard lamp to have next to him so he could see better. It had a wide shade with a fringe along the bottom and it was the newest, brightest thing in the dingy room. Harry sat in the ring of the lamp’s light, which made his sallow skin look even yellower.
‘Get us a drink, will you?’ he asked.
‘What d’you want?’
‘Pint of Ansells.’ He was so breathless he could hardly speak, but he tried to smile at the joke.
She smiled wanly at him and brought a glass of water. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Ta, wench.’
She sat with him as he ate, so agonizingly slowly. Linda saw as he held the spoon that the tremor in his hand seemed to get a little worse each day, so that he often cursed to himself when he got it to his mouth and there was very little soup left on it.
‘D’you want me to do it, Dad?’
He looked up at her, ashamed. ‘No. I can manage. It’s this stuff, see,’ he gasped between breaths. ‘Porridge don’t fall off the spoon.’
He laboured on for a few more mouthfuls.
‘Go on then – ’ Proud, he thrust the spoon at her. ‘You give us a few.’
She felt old, suddenly, as if in seconds he had become the child, she the adult. She helped him eat, holding the creamy spoonfuls of soup to his whiskery lips. He slurped loudly. After a few mouthfuls he said, ‘Not so fast.’ And they stopped for a rest.
He looked at her, considering her. She felt somehow as if he was really seeing her.
‘Don’t live like me.’
She stared at him, almost wondering if she’d imagined that he spoke.
‘D’you hear?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
He looked away, closing the door on a conversation that had barely begun, and left her wondering.
‘I’ll have a bit more now.’
She was scraping the last of the soup from the bowl when they heard the front door. Violet appeared with her coat still on, looking neat and pretty, but there were dark shadows under her eyes and she’d obviously been crying. Linda felt herself clench up inside.
‘Oh – you’ve done his tea,’ Violet stated.
‘Did you see Carol? What’s the matter?’ She got to her feet in alarm.
Her mother came and sank into the other chair, her tears coming again.
‘I saw her. They’ve done the operation, but they say it’s not gone right. I mean, they haven’t made her better . . . Oh, I don’t know . . .’ She put her head in her hands and cried, shoulders shaking.
Harry tried to say something but was overtaken by a fit of coughing.
‘What d’you mean?’ Linda knelt by her chair, willing her to speak. ‘Isn’t she going to be able to walk again?’
Violet gulped and wiped her eyes. ‘They say they need to let her recover and then do it again. I mean the doctor said . . . something . . . about plates in her back, her spine. Curvature or summat. I don’t know. I only know it’s not gone right.’
‘Did you see Carol? Was she all right?’
‘I saw her. She was all in a plaster case thing and having to lie there – I mean, you know Carol – she was cheerful enough. The only thing she was bothered about was that that nun she’s always on about . . .’
‘Sister Cathleen?’
‘Yeah. They’ve sent her away – back to her nunnery place. Carol was ever so disappointed. Keeps asking for her. She doesn’t like the others nearly as much.’
Linda ached for Carol. She knew how much Sister Cathleen meant to her.
‘How long’ll she be there then?’ Harry asked.
Violet shook her head. ‘Don’t know. Longer than they thought. Months probably. And then so far as I can see she might be no better for it. One of the nurses kept saying to me I had to be hopeful, the next operation would make a difference. And then there’ll be all that exercise and stuff for her. I just feel so bad, the thought of her lying there all that time again and nothing we can do.’
Linda lay in bed that night full of painful thoughts of Carol and how she must be feeling. Dad was coughing next door. Once or twice she heard him groan. His body was so emaciated now that moving was painful for him and even a soft mattress could chafe him to sores.
She felt utterly helpless. Her father had been sick for so long, Carol was stuck in her hospital bed, and as her mom had said, they couldn’t seem to do anything about anything, ever. She willed thoughts to Carol, lying there in her bed at St Gerard’s, unable to move without help. Was she awake now, saying those prayers she set so much store by?
God help her, Linda thought, and wondered if that counted as a prayer. And Dad. For good measure, she added, please.
Before she drifted off to sleep, she realized there might just be one small thing she could do.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Linda stood outside the convent walls, her heart thudding painfully.
It was an overcast, chill afternoon. The trees edging the park across the road were turning fast, their leaves adding a copper glow to the greyness. Reaching Selly Park, her nerves had increased enormously at the sight of the big, red brick convent behind its enclosing walls. It looked forbidding, like a castle. All she knew about nuns was that they wore strange robes and prayed a lot, that some were nurses, some were kind and gentle like Sister Cathleen, and others, from frightening stories she’d heard, could be anything but. It seemed so strange that Sister Cathleen with her friendly, freckly face lived in this terrifying-looking place.
For a while she walked back and forth outside the wrought-iron gates, too frightened to enter.
Well, I can’t stay out here all day, she thought, and forced herself to pass under the arch into the courtyard. She felt as if she was being watched from all the many windows, and she hurried to the front door and rang the bell.
After a pause the door opened. A plain face, of an age she could not have guessed, look out enquiringly from under a black veil.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ It was a melodious voice, the tone neither warm nor cold.
Linda suddenly realized she had not a thought in her head of what to say.
‘Um – I’ve come to find Sister Cathleen,’ she blurted out.
The woman’s expression altered not a jot.
‘I see. Well, we have more than one Sister Cathleen here. In fact we have three. Would your Sister Cathleen be an older person?’
Linda shook her head.
‘Ah. Well, in that case you must be wanting Sister Cathleen Donovan or Sister Cathleen Geraghty . . .’ She stood musing. ‘And Sister Cathleen Geraghty has gone home to Ireland . . .’
‘She’s a nurse,’ Linda offered. ‘She was at Coleshill looking after my sister.’
‘Ah,’ she said again, softening a fraction. ‘Well, you’re lucky then, because that’s Sister Cathleen Donovan and I happen to know just where she is at this very moment. You’d better come in.’
Linda found herself ushered through a dark hallway to a side room where there were a few chairs and a crucifix on the wall by the door. It was very quiet as the nun disappeared and the great building around her seemed to absorb all the noise from outside. She didn’t think she had ever been anywhere so quiet.
In just a few moments the door swung silently open and she saw Sister Cathleen’s round, pale face, in which the blue eyes looked very big and deep. She was wearing black now, not the white habit the nursing sisters wore, and she seemed to glide across the floor.
‘Hello, dear.’ She came forward with a calm, but puzzled expression. ‘I hear you asked to see me?’
Linda’s mouth went dry. She stood up awkwardly. Obviously Sister Cathleen didn’t remember her.
‘It’s all right – sit down.’
Sister Cathleen sat down beside her. ‘How did you know my name?’
She drew back a little and examined Linda’s face. ‘Ah, now I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Would that be at St Gerard’s?’
‘It’s my sister, Carol,’ Linda blurted, feeling foolish as the tears welled in her eyes. ‘You were her nurse at Coleshill. She’s got polio.’
She saw Sister Cathleen’s face break into a smile. ‘Oh, one of our little patients, I see!’
‘Carol Martin.’
‘Little Carol.’ She gave a little gasp. ‘Oh yes, God love her! I’d not forget her. Lovely-looking girl, and she’s something about her, you know. She’s one of God’s own and no mistake. I’ve not met many like her. How’s she going along?’
Linda began to cry now, all her pent-up worry pouring out.
‘She’s back in the hospital and they’ve done an operation on her back and they say it hasn’t worked and she’s going to be there for a long time. And she thought you’d be there and she wanted to see you and you weren’t there . . .’
‘Oh, the poor lass . . .’ Sister Cathleen looked stricken. ‘The operation’s not been a success? Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Will they do it again?’
Linda nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘I think so.’
‘Oh dear . . .’ She tutted, shaking her head. ‘Such a delicate little thing as well. Now don’t you be upsetting yourself, dear, I’m sure it’ll be all right . . .’
‘She wants you,’ Linda sobbed, feeling at that moment as if the wanting was all coming from deep inside herself, not Carol. ‘She wanted you to be there.’
‘Oh, you poor young thing.’ Sister Cathleen’s eyes were full of sympathy. ‘I can see how much you feel for your sister. But at the moment I’m working here – we have a hospital of our own, in the convent. I’d like to see her, she’s a special child, your Carol. But I’m not free just to go, d’you see?’
She stood up and in doing so invited Linda to stand as well.
‘Send her my good wishes. Tell her to say the rosary I taught her, um? And I’ll see what I can do.’
